


All things unspoken

by boxofwonder



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Filth with Feelings, M/M, Nothing too explicit hence the rating but, Sexual Content, more feelings than filth, well you've been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6778102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/pseuds/boxofwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the mercy of Oikawa Tooru, Ushijima finds himself speechless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All things unspoken

**Author's Note:**

  * For [talonyth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/talonyth/gifts).



> I used to be confused over people who wrote filth to show their best friends their love.  
> I am no longer confused.  
> Happy two year anniversary, darling, thanks for bringing out the true sinner in me. Here's to the next two years!

“Are you okay, Ushiwaka-chan? You …” Oikawa trails his fingertips down Ushijima's naked chest, his voice dripping sugar-sweet. “... seem a little nervous.”

No willpower in this world would allow Ushijima to control his heaving chest, giving him away.

“Oh? What is it?” Oikawa's eyes are half-lidded, clouded as they take Ushijima's body in. Hungry. “Did you bring those for me again …?” He runs his fingers over the curve of the handcuffs like they are a piece of art carved by him as they keep Ushijima's wrists pinned up over his head.

At the mercy of Oikawa Tooru, Ushijima finds himself speechless.

In fact, he had expected things to go the other way around – not particularly adventurous to begin with, it had always been enough of a thrill to him to watch – to be the reason for Oikawa to come undone. Flushed lips and cheeks and skin, and his voice, oh, his voice.

The thrill in their nights together is the allure of a dream Ushijima gets to taste for those precious hours where nothing parts them, skin against skin, desire and satisfaction drowning out helpless longing.

This illusion is an addictive one Ushijima entertains time and time again, even when reality hits him a little harder each time afterwards: that Oikawa could be _his_ and if only by him literally bound to Ushijima's bed. Writhing beneath him, unable to pull away from the the adoration Ushijima's lips and tongue could convey better without trying to form words.

Touch is a language forgiving of imprecision, where intent translates without the need to pick the right words and string them together. Words Ushijima would probably not find, nothing that could convey the magnitude of his feelings without turning Oikawa away in the same breath.

What Ushijima craves most about these encounters isn't Oikawa's hand wrapped around him as he whispers shameless promises into Ushijima's ear, even when Oikawa's creativity is exhilarating and never leaves him craving. No, what brings Ushijima back time and time again are the moments right afterwards, when Oikawa is soft and pliant in his arms, their muscles humming with warm satisfaction. For a moment, it will be only them, quiet and naked and close.

For just a couple of heartbeats, the gaping hole in Ushijima's chest would disappear and leave nothing but gentle lights dancing behind his eyelids, a calm mind and a calming heart.

For these moments, they feel like _more._

_More_ is all Ushijima has ever wanted from Oikawa, from high school and onwards, through years without a word spoken and contact come to live anew. Just _more,_ always more than they were.

But more is not for him, not for _them._

This is all they are – a phone call, once, twice a week. Sweat and skin sliding over skin, nails dragging down his back, marks sucked into Oikawa's thighs because nobody will see there, nobody should see, but at least _Oikawa_ can never forget that Ushijima had _touched_ him, made him come undone. That it was _his_ name falling from Oikawa's lips in pants and pleas, a beautiful melody.

It is a lie, of course, one that Ushijima loves to be told even when it slowly eats away at him.

For every quiet moment, every gentle touch, every romantic gesture Ushijima craves, Oikawa sees nothing but the temporary bliss Ushijima can grant him in their relationship – if you could call it that.

No feelings would be involved, Oikawa had made him promise after their first slip-up three months ago, both at a loss of how to deal with the proximity of the night prior in the light of morning, and it had been a lie even back then. It had been a lie from the beginning, and Ushijima should have never agreed to do this more than once.

Especially not like this – not when he is so utterly helpless, wrists bound and exposed in a way that takes away what little control he has in protecting his own heart from this -

“Ushijima?” Oikawa hesitates, the predatory glint in his eyes softening to worry. “I … don't have to do this. I thought it might get you excited, too, but -” His posture speaks _I am sorry for pushing you,_ but when he opens his mouth he paints bravado over his words. “I guess it is beneath you to be at my mercy. Perhaps you're too scared, so I will be benevolent, and release you of your shackles.”

And Ushijima looks up at him, Oikawa's lips a deep shade of red and the smile curving them too lovely, so lovely his chest aches with all the feelings he is holding inside, wasting.

What is he doing to himself?

“I love you.”

Like this, with Oikawa above him, Ushijima can see it – the realisation. How at first, Oikawa's entire face goes slack, lips slightly agape, eyes wide. And then his expression turns sharp – sharp furrow of his brows, sharp eyes, sharp twist to his lips as the words gain meaning, realign all their encounters of before, everything Ushijima had ever said and done.

Regret hits him instantly, causes him to yank at the cuffs keeping him in place, which are forcing him to stay right where he is with his heart on display. The sound of metal against the bed frame is jarring, but it rings with less force than the mindless terror Ushijima feels. Pain explodes in his wrists, but he just has to _go,_ to leave, what the _fuck_ even was he thinking after all these months – to reveal it just like that - something he has kept hidden for _years -_

“Ushijima!” Oikawa's hands wrap around his wrists, grip strong. Keep him in place. “Stop it. You're hurting yourself. I'm taking them off, just give me a moment. Don't freak!”

It's not actually the grip though that grounds Ushijima. It's the look in Oikawa's eyes.

“I'm sorry.” He licks his lips, lungs still feeling like there's no air in them.

“Don't apologise,” Oikawa mutters dismissively, climbing off him and snatching the key. “This isn't how I wanted it to go, but don't you dare apologise.”

Ushijima lies perfectly still, heart racing. It is strange. He has never quite known fear, not of this kind – paralysing him. Leaving him desperate enough to hurt his own wrists in a struggle to get free that he had known was futile, by common sense alone.

But common sense had not even reached him anymore. For a second, he had utterly lost himself.

Perhaps it is for the better that Ushijima just killed their arrangement with three simple words.

“I am sorry, though.”

“Shut up,” Oikawa says carelessly, settling next to him, avoiding to meet his gaze as he fumbles with the key and the cuffs. Instead of the relieving click and his freedom, though, all that Ushijima gets is a question, uttered in a voice so uncharacteristically small for a person like Oikawa. “Did you mean it?”

“You said you'd take them off,” Ushijima grits out through his teeth. “So do it.”

“You'll run.”

“Don't you want me to?” This isn't even a question to begin with. After this? Of course Oikawa wants him out of here. “And I won't run. I will simply leave.” Oikawa lowers his hands into his lap, and Ushijima groans. “Why won't you -”

“It's the same thing.” Oikawa's voice still is so soft, so sober. “Did you mean it, Wakatoshi?”

It's his first name that undoes him. Scared and foolish, cowardly like he has never felt before, Ushijima closes his eyes. “I did. Just – let me g-”

Oikawa's lips on his cut him off, a kiss much different from any they have ever traded. Soft and gentle, with fingers cradling his jaw. Ushijima strains away from the touch with a broken noise, unable to use his hands so he lifts his knees to force Oikawa away.

“Don't do this to me,” he gasps, feeling his eyes sting and burn. Falling in love has made him ache more than any injury, any disappoint in his life ever had. It is dangerous and irrational and stubbornly refusing to die, even after all these years. This simple kiss is stirring wounds too old and too deep.

Even sugar hurts that way.

“I should've ended this a long time ago. See these words as my goodbye for you.”

“Will you stay if I tell you that I love you, too?”

How much longer does Oikawa intend to torture him? “I did not take you for a person to pity people like this.”

“You dense bastard.” Oikawa's voice sounds so hollow, stretching as thin as Ushijima's frayed nerves. Oikawa curls in on himself, shivering as if he is freezing without bothering to reach for his discarded shirt. The set of his brows, his mouth, his jaw, it – Ushijima can not name what it does to him.

Then, a tremor runs through Oikawa's body and he straightens, finally releasing Ushijima from those damned handcuffs.

Ushijima sits up, feeling a lot more in control simply by being able to _move,_ even when everything has already gotten way out of his control.

Three words. This could have been a perfectly simple evening.

“Go on,” Oikawa tells him. “Leave. You seem to care more about yourself more than what I have to say anyway.”

Ushijima swings his legs over the edge of the bed just to feel the soles of his feet touch solid ground. It is a simple trick his father has taught him, to press his feet against the ground and take one deep breath if he needs to focus.

It helps, remotely at least, even now.

“I'm scared,” he says, simply. His emotions may be grand, feel grand, but that doesn't mean he can put them into words accordingly. In the end, it all boils down to this. “Aren't you?”

“I'm scared shitless.” Oikawa rakes a hand through his hair. “I suck at this. Relationships. I haven't made one work longer than a couple of months since high school. The only reason I managed to keep you around for so long was _because_ I kept it physical. Uncomplicated. Because you _promised_ that -” He cuts himself off, shakes his head. “I guess that promise is useless after we both broke it.” Then, he buries his face in his hands, elbows braced on his knees. What a strange, unwelcome sight – Oikawa Tooru with his head bowed. “You'll grow tired of me, too. They all do.”

“Ten years.”

“What?” Oikawa sounds incredulous. Ushijima hates that he's facing away from him, that he can only see Oikawa's back.

“I've been in love with you for ten years. I tried to make it stop, but I couldn't, even though I wanted to.”

Oikawa sits still, his bare back only pronouncing the tension in his shoulders that Ushijima yearns and refuses to smooth out with his palms. It would be unwelcome, no doubt.

“I -” Oikawa whispers it against his palms, first, and then he looks up, eyes on a framed picture on his wall. He takes a deep breath. “When we started this – no, even earlier, I – I never meant for it to be like this. I never asked to fall for you.”

“Me neither.” Ushijima looks down at his fingers knotted in his lap. “I thought it would be alright. But being like this with you … it kills me.”

“Me, too.” Oikawa takes a shaky breath. Ushijima wonders what kind of expression he's making, when he says all this, wonders if he'll actually find the same pain in Oikawa's eyes that has been festering in him for so long. “What do you think I've been doing all this time? Do you think I spread my legs for just anyone, that I was just in it for the sex? That's what I wanted myself to believe, too, but - I _want_ you, and I can't have you, and it _kills me_. The promise I wrung from you turned out to be my own curse. Do you understand, Ushiwaka?” And this time, Oikawa turns, with a thin smile on his lips and lashes wet with tears. “You don't get to call this pity, you insensitive _bastard.”_

“You've always been enough, though.” Ushijima shakes his head, feeling so helpless, mind reeling. What is happening? Can this even be real? “You've always been … too much to bear, Oikawa.”

Oikawa makes a warbled little noise, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “If you're trying to confess, call me by my first name at least, idiot.”

“I'm already yours, Tooru. I've been all along.”

“Come here,” Oikawa chokes out, and Ushijima complies. He would follow this man to the edge of the world right now if he only asked him to. Oikawa pulls him down, wraps his arms around him, buries his nose at his neck. It feels warm. Warmer than summer could ever feel.

“Do you mean it?” Oikawa whispers, breathless and urgent, breath hot against Ushijima's skin.

“Yes.” A simple answer, again. No other words needed.

Oikawa exhales shakily. “Then don't run.”

“Alright.”

“Stay the night.”

“Yes.”

“And say it again.”

“... I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

Oikawa sighs, and Ushijima can feel his smile on his skin. “Good.”

They sit like this for a bit, the cold shiver of the room not quite managing to nip at Ushijima's bare torso, not when they're pressed so close, when Oikawa is all the warmth he needs already.

“I really wanted this,” Oikawa sighs, at last, an air of dramatics catching in his voice again. “Make you submit to me. Reduce you to a mess, only stuttering my name and desperate pleas. Make you _cry_ with frustration, play you for hours.” He runs his hands over Ushijima's skin, their gentleness betraying his words. “You owe me that much, Ushiwaka-chan. But tonight … I want something different.”

“Anything.”

“If you say it like this I'll take advantage of you eventually,” Oikawa mutters with a sly little grin, but when he pulls back his eyes are alight with so much, Ushijima can't find a word for this, either. Or, if he indulges himself, perhaps the word he would use is _love._

Complicated and all-consuming and painful. And bright, like Oikawa's eyes.

Oikawa gets up off the bed, offering a hand, and Ushijima takes it. Lets himself be pulled up and swept into Oikawa's pace.

He leads him into the living room, straight to the shelf with all his DVDs. Ushijima had taken notice of the collection, but never found the time to pay attention to any of it. With certainty, Oikawa reaches for a specific case and puts it into Ushijima's hands, who looks down at the frankly strange cover, mildly confused.

“This is my favourite documentary,” Oikawa says, as only way of explanation. “It's about time you learn about aliens. Sit down.”

Ushijima does, not without getting the DVD snatched from him again. It feels strange, actually, to simply sit on the sofa. They'd done … more horizontal things on here before. Oikawa puts the disc into the player and leaves the room, leaving Ushijima even more confused.

By the time he returns, the ads have run past and the starting menu has looped twice. Ushijima has grown unsettled again, part of him still unable to believe this is actually reality.

“Make room,” Oikawa orders, and then forces Ushijima to when he sits down between his legs and presses back against his chest. He leans his head onto Ushijima's shoulder, hair tickling the side of his neck.

The intimacy of it makes Ushijima feel more exposed than he had ever felt naked.

“Put your arms around me,” Oikawa orders, voice raw. And Ushijima does, pulls him closer and holds onto him tightly, choked up and unwilling to ever let go again.

There is no way he could ever grow tired of Oikawa, and he'll show him, day by day by day.

“I love you,” he whispers against Oikawa's hair again, who does not reply, but as the strange documentation starts up a bottle clicks and Ushijima almost flinches at the cool touch of Oikawa's fingertips on his wrist. Gently, Oikawa spreads salve on the aching bruises forming from the earlier struggle.

The gesture tells Ushijima all he needs to know.

  
  


He falls asleep during the cheap documentary. Oikawa, not Ushijima – _he_ is pitifully awake for the entire atrocity. But honestly, he does not mind a bit, not when he gets to hold a peacefully breathing Oikawa in his arms all throughout.

He carries him to bed, later. Not for desperate touches, fleeting moments.

Ushijima gets the privilege that night to lie down next to Oikawa, watch his lovers' sleeping face in the soft glow of the moonlight. He marvels and wonders until sleep pulls him under, for dreams that could not be sweeter than reality, fingers laced with Oikawa's.

**Author's Note:**

> We're never speaking about this again, okay?  
> Okay.


End file.
